


Rejoice, For The World Has Fallen Around You

by context_please



Series: A Million Little Pieces - Drabbles for Macx's Pushing Boundaries Series [5]
Category: Jurassic Park (Movies), Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: But also unconscious, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I can't leave OCs alone in peace, Ouch, Owen Grady is badass, Sorry Not Sorry, This is a tribute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 07:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4338923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/context_please/pseuds/context_please
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Muscles shift and bunch under her skin, powerful thighs shuddering as she comes to a halt. Her amber eyes are on Owen, the stillness of him, her tail whipping back and forth. She’s still but she never stops moving. Like Owen. </p>
<p>A drabble for Macx's Tainted and Threshold Shift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rejoice, For The World Has Fallen Around You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Macx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Threshold Shift](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4242024) by [Macx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx). 



> What? Another one?
> 
> Yep! Sorry for the couple of days' wait!
> 
> Have you read Macx's Tainted and Threshold Shift? Yes? Great! You may proceed. No? You should probably do that now but who am I to stop you.
> 
> (Annika is Macx's OC, I am just borrowing.)

Owen looks tiny.

The harsh fluorescent light catches starkly on his white hospital gown, contrasting against the sickly grey of his skin. He’s not asleep – she’s not sure anyone ever truly _sleeps_ in this hospital – and he doesn’t even twitch as she spreads a waffle-knitted blanket over him. The gentle rise and fall of his chest is all that identifies him as a patient. All that keeps him from the morgue.

Lacking the perpetual motion of his waking world, Owen Grady is barely the same person. His face is too young, without the watchfulness of his eyes. His shoulders are too narrow, missing the bunch of muscle beneath the skin as he moves.

Annika Svensson has only treated him a couple of times, but she’s seen him around. He’s always gesturing with his hands, shifting his weight fluidly. Always moving.

Now, the only thing that moves is the heart rate monitor, climbing and falling.

Drugged to the gills, his eyes don’t even twitch beneath his eyelids. His hair is still a little damp, clinging to his temples. The little strands curl as they dry. There’s mud and debris flaking in his moustache, but his skin is clean. It’s turning a deep black, red patches peeking through where the bruise hasn’t yet reached. Annika comes closer to the bed, pulling the hospital gown free of his shoulder.

Spectacular bruising greets her. It weaves seductively over the ball of the joint and up Owen’s collarbone, spreading onto his neck. Luckily, his shoulder is no more bruised than the last time she checked. It’s going to hurt like he’s gone sixteen rounds with the Pachycephalosaurus and Owen should be glad the pain stops there. She’s seen joint wrenches like this before – he’s lucky he didn’t tear a muscle. With the force of his fall, he could easily have pulled his arm off.

But she’s treated him before. He’ll turn on the charm, give her the puppy eyes, and ask quietly if he can go home. She’s wise to his ways – he’s not getting loose this time.

Annika leans in, feels gently at the bruising on his neck. Her fingers burn against the cold of his skin, leaving white imprints that fill with grey when she pulls her fingers back. The blood loss is stopping the inflammation, for now. It won’t last long. Annika makes a note have the nurse ready some ice packs, and maybe a cloth to clean the filth off his hair and jaw.

Her attention shifts to his left shoulder. It’s twice its usual size, skin tight and hot as she rests the tips of her fingers against it. She pushes gingerly into the joint. The black bruising doesn’t change colour – it’s deeper than she initially thought. The abused muscle is still, betraying just how deeply unconscious Owen is. Fluid squishes under his skin, fleeing from her probing fingers. She’ll have to keep an eye on the swelling – she may need to drain the excess fluid.

Annika replaces the hospital gown, pulls up the blanket to warm his bloodless skin. He’d woken earlier, when Annika was rattling off rapid-fire orders to her team, Owen’s body tight as a bowstring on the gurney. Some time between the sounds of Annika’s team constantly re-checking his vitals and the clatter of the gurney wheels on the linoleum floor, she heard him. He’d moaned lowly, eyes unfocused, blood still oozing from the gash on his forehead. But he was talking, words slurred and almost inaudible in his throat. ‘Blue, Blue,’ he chanted brokenly, relief and pain rolled into a single package that tasted like ash in her mouth. ‘I’m ‘ere I’m –‘

The cry of a raptor rang through the hospital, as if it were standing right next to her. Annika’s skin crawled but her lungs ached. She’s cried her anguish to the sky enough times it wasn’t hard to recognize.

She heard him. The raptor heard him, and she was in pain.

Sighing quietly, Annika rests a hand on Owen’s neck. It’s only for a moment – just enough to feel the brush of a scar against her fingers – and it’s pointless anyway. She offers solidarity with that touch. He doesn’t feel it.

 

 

 

‘You don’t have to come with me,’ Jakob says, voice wavering.

Annika rolls her eyes, shoving at him. She’s old enough to go to her brother’s appointment. She’s been to the doctor’s before – this time can’t be any different. Right?

‘Of course I can,’ she insists. ‘You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.’

It’s too late, anyway. They’re already standing under the verandah at the hospital entrance, watching people come and go.

Jakob fidgets, drawing the collar of his coat a little higher. He shuffles back and forth, eyes darting between the hospital doors and the snow-coated path that leads to home. Her ribs ache when she looks into his eyes, and she doesn’t know why.

Sliding into his side, she wraps an arm around his waist. ‘Come on,’ she exclaims, grinning brightly at him.

His arm is solid around her shoulders, just like she remembers. He laughs, says, ‘I thought this was my appointment,’ and leads her into the welcome heat of the building. Something inside her relaxes as he checks in and takes her to a seat. He nudges and pokes her, but she won’t give up her seat that easily. They pick at each other’s coats, trying to pick up little flakes of snow before they melt between their fingers. And they’re giggling madly, heads tilted together, when the doctor calls, ‘Jakob Svensson?’

The smile vanishes from his face as if it was never there. There’s something in his eyes when he looks at her, gives her a nod. She links her arm through his, and they enter the doctor’s room ready to face whatever he throws at them.

The doctor is wrinkly and old, hands moving slowly. But there’s light in his eyes – sad, sad light. His forehead wrinkles even more when he says, ‘Mr Svensson, I wish I had good news for you. The melanoma is more aggressive than we first thought. Stage 3. I recommend the immediate removal of your lymph nodes and the commencement of chemotherapy. It’s the best chance we have of stopping any spread.’ He rubs at his temples with slow hands, voice full of something she can’t name. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Svensson. But the treatments are our best bet.’

Jakob glances to her for a brief moment, not enough time to understand what she sees in his eyes. ‘I trust your judgment,’ he says to the doctor.

Annika’s heart feels funny, beating wrong in her chest, as they leave the hospital. Her eyes burn, but it’s not because of the cold. Jakob’s arm is wrapped around her shoulders, warm and familiar.

White snow blankets the world, the first of the season. Her breath swirls in the meandering snow, little flakes catching in her coat. She pokes her tongue out to catch a snowflake and tries again after her breath blows it away. She says, ‘bet you can’t catch one, _storebror_.’

The gleam is back in his eyes, and they walk home with their mouths open to the sky.

 

 

 

 

Their mother and father work too much – they don’t come to Jakob’s appointments.

He’s sad. It lurks in his eyes like a burglar awaiting his big break, and it makes her throat close up and her hands shake with the flood of anger in her system. Mother and father ask how the treatment is going, but they cannot see the way his head tilts downwards, the tiredness clinging to him like a constrictor snake, the stiffness of his movements. They ask about the melanoma but never see his arm. Never see that little swollen red spot at the base of his bicep that’s getting bigger. Never comment when he pushes his food away.

Always watch but never see.

 

 

 

She takes Jakob to a support group.

He knows most of the people there already. They see each other often, in the hospital wards. They speak between treatments. The conversation is always tired and wandering but it helps. Jakob has Annika – always will – yet sometimes it’s not enough. The people that occupy the cancer ward are there with a kind word and gentle hand when she doesn’t know what to do. They chat with Jakob about movies and TV shows and sports, and they tell Annika that she’s doing the right thing.

One of their friends, Ellin, is walking gingerly through the hall when they arrive. Her face lights up and she’s instantly asking Annika about school, homework, and how her basketball game went on the weekend. Annika tells her about class on Tuesday and how the teacher’s fly was undone the whole lesson, because her laugh is beautiful and she doesn’t hear enough of it.

Ellin looks forward to their visits – happiness in her eyes when they arrive and grief when they leave. Annika thinks Ellin doesn’t have anyone else.

‘We have to go, Anni,’ Jakob says, arm on her shoulders as he walks them away. ‘We’re already late.’

Ellin’s face falls. ‘Come see me before you go?’ she calls, voice cracking.

‘I promise!’ Annika calls back.

Jakob smiles down at her, hugging her a little tighter into his side. His skin is paler than ever against the black under his eyes. His arm is lighter than she remembers, but no less warm. He’s lost weight and muscle, skin pulling tight over his bones. He looks like he should sleep for years.

The familiar ache burrows deeper into her chest.

The support group is excited today. Nervous energy twists around the room as the group leader brings out a buzz-cutter. ‘It’s not scary when we’re all together,’ he says, and that makes sense. One by one, he shaves their heads. When he’s done, the group members flock together, touching each other’s heads and making jokes.

He does Jakob last.

Jakob’s hair is thin, now. It’s missing in patches and brittle against her fingers, dull and lackluster. She holds his hand as they shear it off, leaving only the shiny skin of his head. He runs his fingers over his bare scalp, frowning deeply and eyes hurting.

‘It’s my turn,’ she declares. The group turns to her, clearly taking in her well-kept locks and the blue ribbon in her hair. Impatient, she says, ‘can’t be the odd one out, can I?’

Long blonde locks fall at her feet, and it’s weird. But Jakob’s watching her, a smile on his face and in his eyes and in his hand on her shoulder, and it’s nothing but right.

 

 

 

The doctor says, ‘the cancer has advanced to Stage 4,’ and, ‘you require immediate treatment,’ and, ‘we need to stop the spread. I’m sorry.’

They take his arm.

_I’m sorry._

 

 

 

It’s strange, without the weight of his arm over her shoulder, but it’s okay. She grieves. He has lost a part of himself, sacrificed in the wake of the disease. She cried in anguish for him, and she smiled with him. He may have lost his arm, but he gets to sit here beside her. It’s just _new_. She can get used to that. At some point, it’s her arm that covers his shoulders, her laughter that fixes him. But he’s still here, and the cancer is gone. Everything is perfect.

 

 

 

She’s checking the swelling on Owen’s shoulder when she notices it. The rustle in the leaves outside of the hospital window catches her attention first, and she leans a little closer, heart rate kicking up a notch.

It’s still raining outside, even though the storm has passed. The inky blackness of the jungle swallows the light from Owen’s window, greedy.

Annika watches. She’s good at watching, now.

The leaves part like water, a tall shape sliding from the undergrowth. The light catches on her, turning green markings grey. Annika holds her breath, watching as a raptor sidles up to the window. Muscles shift and bunch under her skin, powerful thighs shuddering as she comes to a halt. Her amber eyes are on Owen, the stillness of him, her tail whipping back and forth. She’s still but she never stops moving. Like Owen.

The vivid stripes of blue down her sides are flat and dark under the window’s light. Annika’s shoulders are shaking, her spine suddenly causing an internal earthquake. The raptor’s eyes instantly dart to her, looking into her soul. That impossibly sharp gaze rips her apart and digs at her innards as surely as her teeth would. Water drips off of her nose, her nostrils slitted to keep the rain out. Her jaw trembles, muscles shuddering wildly as he snarls, her attention squarely on Annika.

But there’s something else.

Something in her eyes Annika recognizes. It’s underneath the aggression, underneath the layers of animal instinct and endless need to hunt. Beneath the surface of her, writhing under her skin.

She looks like Annika, the time she caught her own reflection after Jakob’s first appointment. The raptor loves Owen: that much is plain to see. She can only stand on the wrong side of a layer of glass and brick and hope he’s all right. Hope the little humans can fix him.

Annika understands – the helplessness drives her too.

The raptor snarls, sound carrying faintly through the window. Fixes Annika with a hopeless glare.

‘I’ll take care of him,’ she says. Just like she said to her mother and father all those years ago. ‘I promise.’

The raptor’s snarl vanishes, and she turns her eyes to Owen.

Annika knows a dismissal when she sees it.

 

 

 

 

A year later, she smiles at Mason Green, sickly sweet. Calms him when he rants and raves and cries. Refuses to respond to his insults and threats to sue her. He is still alive. He is lucky.

She’s seen how much the girls love Owen. If it weren’t for him, Mason wouldn’t have even seen what killed him. But he’s here, abusing her nurses and wasting the oxygen in this world. She wishes they’d eaten him.

He wails in pain when she probes at his ankle, yelling, ‘I’m going to die, I’m dying!’

Annika has seen people die. They die on her table, in her hospital, on her watch. She watched Ellin fade away, alone in the world. Watched Jakob teeter on the edge of death and pulled him back, keeping him beside her. Watched the stump of his left arm twitch forlornly and grieved the missing piece of her brother. Has felt isolated and alone in a room full of people.

Annika Svensson became a doctor to fend off the helplessness she once felt. Every now and then, it stabs her in the chest. Reminds her she is not infallible. That all her training sometimes means nothing.

And that’s okay.

She stands alongside her patients in battle. Becomes the champion they need.

Annika is battle-scarred but whole, and that’s what matters.

**Author's Note:**

> This kind of ran away with my brain. Sorry for the unnecessary background stuff with her brother - it wouldn't leave my head and here we are!
> 
> The majority of this takes place pre-Tainted. The Owen scenes are from the latter half of Tainted, and the end is from Threshold Shift. (Because Mason is a fucktard and I couldn't resist making a bigger fool of him.)
> 
> Hope you liked it!


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